Close Call
by Tripoli
Summary: A mishap during a mission leaves Newkirk feeling guilty, but Carter's there to help. Slash Newkirk/Carter


This is slash, Newkirk/Carter. I absolutely adore this pairing, and I had to write something for them because there's so few fics that focus on it. It's a derail from my typical drama/angst genres that I usually write, but I like the change. Hope you enjoy!

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"Now, my cousin Angry Rabbit? You'll get to meet him, and boy is he a whole different story than my kid brother. You see..."

Newkirk divided his attention as he listened to the younger man chatter away, his voice a comfort to his own nerves that had yet to settle as he ever so carefully stitched up the deep gash that ran down the side of Carter's face.

Or as carefully as Newkirk could anyway, with Carter moving around the entire time. As if talking with his mouth wasn't enough, he had to use his hands to enunciate his words as well.

"Andrew, would you stop squirming around! Do you want me to prick you in the eye? Because I will if you don't sit still." With an exasperated sigh, Newkirk reached up with his free hand and pushed down on Carter's head, effectively stilling him...

"Oops, sorry." He didn't even sound the least bit apologetic; Newkirk suppressed an eye roll. "Anyway, it was right before I left when I found him just standing outside in the middle of the night."

...But it didn't stop him entirely. Newkirk was only half serious in his threat anyway, which Carter seemed to pick up on, because he didn't shut up. It was partially the Brit's fault to begin with, who had asked Carter to tell him a story so he could listen, and to Newkirk, his voice proving he was still there was one of the most beautiful things he could have heard at the moment.

Tonight had been too close of a call, and they had been damn lucky Carter had come out of it only a little worse for wear. A faulty timer had gone off much too early while Carter was still setting the last few charges, causing him to get hit in part of the blast. By pure luck alone he had been far enough away to only get singed a little bit; most of his injuries Newkirk was fixing now had come from the fall from the bridge they were blowing up.

Whether it was because today was the seventh, or that damned rabbit's foot Carter always insisted on carrying around in his pocket, or maybe for once they simply caught one hell of break, Newkirk wasn't quite sure, but he knew he wanted more of whatever it was stashed away just in case. The mission, however, was not so lucky and had ended up in shambles. Hogan, Kinch, and Lebeau were listening in to Hochstetter's current visit and planning any necessary damage control upstairs, while Newkirk had insisted on staying below to patch up Carter before the Krauts could see his injuries.

Pulling the last piece of thread through the cut before tying off the end, Newkirk gave Carter a light pat on the cheek and handed him a mirror. "There we go dear heart, all done. Does it feel alright, not too tight?"

"Feels fine, I can barely even tell it's there." Carter experimentally tested the stitches, stretching his jaw to test the hold as he checked his reflection at different angles. "Gee, Peter, you're pretty good at giving stitches. Maybe you could be a doctor after the war."

"Not bloody likely, I'll stick to fabrics thank you very much. Just don't go pulling 'em out before they've healed," Newkirk reminded. "I like my work to be permanent the first time."

"I'm not planning on it, boy. I'm already dreading when they have to come out. That hurts!"

Newkirk watched for a moment as Carter continued to check out his patched up wound, his mouth dropping into a frown as he was reminded once more just how close he had come to losing him. __Andrew said any of us could have set that timer, but what if it was me? __The thought that he had even the slightest chance that he could have been the cause made him almost sick to his stomach.

"Hey, you okay Peter? You haven't said much all night." Carter picked up on his unease as well, his head tilting in concern as he focused entirely on Newkirk, stitches and story forgotten. "I think you might've got caught in that blast too. You've been worried about me this whole time, what about you?"

Newkirk felt an uncomfortable lump growing in his throat, and then his heart fluttered as Carter reached up and laid a hand against his face. __You almost bloody blow yourself up and all you can worry about is me. Cor blimey, you're too good for me.__

"Don't worry about me, love, I'm fine. Just singed my jacket a little," Newkirk reassured him, placing his own hand against Carter's. Despite both of their outward genial appearances, they were still trembling from the stress of the mission. Newkirk had managed to still it while sewing the wound closed, but the night was quickly catching up to him.

"But you were in that fire too, almost as long as I was," Carter pressed, subconsciously rubbing a spot on his chest that Newkirk knew had been burned.

To be fair, his shoulders and back did feel a little stiff, but that only came from dragging Carter's dead weight away from danger before the fire spread too far after the bridge had exploded. He would be a little sore for the next few days, but ultimately unharmed and fine. He was more concerned for Carter, who had suffered several deep bruises, a few bad cuts and burns, and a most likely broken leg. Not enough to be serious, but enough to bother Newkirk.

"I told you I'm fine, I wasn't the one who fell thirty feet," Newkirk said, placing his free hand on Carter's other cheek and pulled his face close to his own, mindful of the stitches. Carter didn't get it, didn't have to watch the love of his life get hurt, didn't understand- "__You __are the one I should be worried about, Andrew, not my own bloody arse. You were the one who almost caught got in that ruddy blast and fell, I could have __lost __you!"

Carter's eyes momentarily went wide out of surprise before he pressed his lips together in a pensive expression, one Newkirk had rarely seen cross his lover's face; it made his own heart tighten. Taking Carter's hand with his own that covered it, he pulled it towards his lips and started to kiss each knuckle.

"Lost me?" Carter finally echoed, for once at a loss for words. He watched as Newkirk's lips moved across each joint, before pressing one final kiss to the top of his hand. "I didn't..."

"You could've." Newkirk knew what Carter was thinking without him even having to say it. Dropping eye contact, he looked down at his thumb as he traced small circles on Carter's hand. "Hell, I thought you __did, __least until I saw you trying to get up. Worst moment in my life, it was. And all I could think is that it could've been __my __timer that I set wrong and almost killed you."

Carter looked as if Newkirk had slapped him in the face, frozen for a moment before he quickly shook his head in protest. "It's not your fault, you can't blame yourself for that. There were five bombs, with five timers set by each of us. It could have been any of us who set it, it probably wasn't even you who did it. And it might not've even been the timer, it could-"

"Don't lie, Andrew, it doesn't suit you," Newkirk said, gently cutting him off. "You said so yourself after they went off early that it was the timer. No one would know that better than you."

"And I also know it's not your fault," Carter retorted. "Even if it was you who set that timer, I know you didn't mean it. Heck, I foul up missions all the time because I forget the film, or forget to set the charges, or do something else stupid. It was only an accident.

"But I'm alive, Peter, thanks to you. You saved me." Carter smiled before he pulled him forward into a slow kiss, causing Newkirk to close his eyes and melt into it with a sigh. It didn't completely ease his nerves or guilt, but it sure did help. __What did I ever do to deserve someone like you? __But Newkirk wouldn't give what he had up for the world.

As soon as Newkirk wrapped his arms around Carter and pulled him in closer, however, the sound of the bunk opening to the tunnel made them quickly pull apart. "Typical, can't get a moment's peace around here, now can we?" he muttered as he stood up. "Least it's not the emergency signal. Might as well get going out of here while the going's good, then. Hopefully the Colonel can find a way to get you into town and get your leg cast."

"My leg's fine, it's just a little sore," Carter said, giving it a tap for good measure (far away from where he had said it hurt, Newkirk noticed). "Lebeau said it's probably not even broken."

With a roll of his eyes, the Brit took Carter's arm and slung it around his shoulder, pulling him up carefully so it wouldn't pull on his bruises. "Take it from the man who had to practically carry you the two and a half miles back to camp, Andrew. I say it's broken."


End file.
